


If I die, I die

by JnjlenSkinjbir



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Post-Canon Fix-It, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn, Spoilers for Season 8, mention of thoros/beric, mentions of gendrya - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2020-05-15 15:15:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19298329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JnjlenSkinjbir/pseuds/JnjlenSkinjbir
Summary: I thought D & D wouldn't really kill Sandor and leave his death more incertain, by getting him resurrected by the Red Priests (for the irony of it and to give Kinvarra a purpose). Well, as we all know, that didn't happen.So, what if Sandor didn't really die and was resurrected by the Red Temple of Volantis?(title taken from the eponymous album of Virgin Prunes)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The end of GOT awoke in me the Spirit of the Fix-It Fic, so here's my first Sansan fic and my first true Fix-It Fic!  
> Just so you know, I only have a vague outline of this fic (I can't even give you an estimation of how many chapters I'm planning), ergo no regular updates (sorry!)/no regular chapter length! I'll try to be coherent and in character though :D
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy ^^
> 
> (Disclaimer: I don't own the characters here, they belong to GRRM/D&D)

  

_The fire can't tame us_

_We're not making peace_

_And haters can't break us_

_We're growing fierce_

_In the end of times, no prophecy just you and me_

_In the end of times, the thrill of the flight_

_I am here to take your life_

(Moonspell - Versus)

  


Throwing himself on his brother so they’d both fall from the crumbling tower was both Sandor’s smartest and stupidest decision.

Stupidest, because he gave his life to kill the thing that has become his brother.

Smartest, because he gave his life to kill the thing that has become his brother, sparing other people from him and avenging himself and Alenor. Besides, given how the Dragon Queen had turned around and burnt every person in King’s Landing, he would die anyway.

 

They fell amidst bricks and pieces of walls and roofs in an opaque, thick smoke, that entered his nose, his mouth and lungs. Sandor already breathed with difficulty during the fight as gregor broke several of his ribs. Now he couldn’t breathe anymore, fire was getting closer and the stench of burnt human flesh became more and more nauseating. But he wasn’t panicking, which surprised even him. _At least I won’t end like him_ , he chuckled.

There was something wet on his cheeks. Blood, mixed with sweat and tears. He was crying, because of the fire smoke. It was a purely physical reaction, totally devoid of any feelings.

Frankly, what would he be crying about? For someone with a half burnt face, he's done quite well.

First, he didn't die of fever or infection the weeks following the incident, although the scarring process hadn't been a pleasant road. He trained, became one of the best fighters of Westeros, entered the Kingsguard, had enough money for wine, whores and roasted chicken.

He helped the Little Bird survive in Kings Landing after her father's death but royally fucked up by not taking her with him when he left during Blackwater Battle. At least leaving made him meet the She-Wolf and teach her one thing or two.

 

Then he thought he died a first time in the Saltpans, but Father Ray found him, nursed him back to life and showed him what a life without violence nor rage could be, which hadn't proved to be as boring as Sandor thought.

 

Not long after, Father Ray was killed and he met the Brotherhood again. Sandor let himself be convinced that they needed to go North of the Wall for a suicide mission on behalf of the Lord of Light, whom he didn’t believed him. He came back alive, defended Winterfell against the Undead fuckers, went back to King’s Landing to kill his brother once and for all, and saved both Stark girls. Or so he hoped. the Little bird was fine in Winterfell, but he only hoped that the wolf bitch found enough time to snuck out of King’s Landing. The corner of his lips turned up. He couldn’t lie to himself, he felt very proud when he saw the Stark sisters had remembered his lessons and applied them.

 

He only had regrets about the Little Bird. Well, not exactly regrets, more what could've beens. Which was stupid cause he never has been and never would be her friend, her lover nor her husband. Maybe her sworn shield and that was it, cause she was probably sick of betrothals and marriages, and she'd have much more to gain by staying alone. But he wouldn’t be able to make a decent sworn shield. True, he was much bigger than most men, but he was no Barristan Selmy: he had a bad leg since the Tarth bitch stabbed him and if he survived the fall (which was as likely to happen as the red-haired wildling stopping talking of the beauty of the giant bitch) he’d have several ribs broken, which’d take time to heal, and be blind. Sansa would then probably be more successful at being her own sworn shield than make him swear the oath.

 

Sandor never felt that he has a destiny that he was put on earth by the Gods for a specific purpose. He had a purpose, one he decided himself to have, and it was what kept him alive in battle and kept him going in moments of doubt. Now that he thought about it, the vanishing of his purpose made him feel free in body and in mind. As if some weight lifted from his shoulders. There was no more fire, no more rage, no more bloodlust. All the pain he felt was washed, the physical one as much as the emotional one. In moments he would die; yet he was strangely calm about it. He was calm for the first time since the day Gregor ruined his face.

 

The floor was dangerously close now, and so was the angry red flames. He closed his eye and saw Alenor’s gentle face, with her big gray eyes, smiling at him. A face that had been blurry for years, but appeared now so much clearer. At last, he’d be joining her, proud of having avenged them both.

 

Something hit the ground with a deafening cracking sound. His brother without doubt. It was the sound of an armor crashing down, but also bones being mortally broken. This time, Gregor was dead, and no mad maester would revive him.

 

Sandor felt proud and relieved. The next second, his body crashed too and everything went black.


	2. Cities in Dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by the song "Cities in Dust" by Siouxsie and the Banshees (originally about the eruption of the volcano in Pompeii). When the bells rang in S8E5 and Dany went mad, I had this song playing in my head as King's Landing was burning down.
> 
> Disclaimer: I still don't own the characters, not even Alenor Clegane (cause there was already an unnamed dead Clegane sister in the books, all I did was name her)

_ We found you hiding we found you lying _

_ Choking on the dirt and sand _

(Siouxsie and the Banshees - Cities in Dust)

  
  
  


When Sandor awoke, everything was grey and smoky, and covered in a thick layer of white ashes. 

He coughed up some ashes too and once he cleaned his nose and mouth, he could breathe more easily, even though the air was still reeking of burnt human flesh. Which curiously didn’t made him gag. In the distance, through the smoke, he could see some building burning bright, some with the orange dragon flames, other green with wildfire. Around him, there were corpses, piles of crumbles everywhere and animals bodies everywhere.

_ Fucking dragon and fucking inbred queen _ was his first thought.

Then:  _ How the fuck did I survive the fall from the bloody tower? I should be dead! _

_ How am I even able to see? I’m pretty sure that cunt of a brother - ah fuck, I shouldn’t be calling him cunt, that’s very insulting to cunts - made sure to pop them out _ .

_ Is this an armor I fell on from the tower? Talk about chances! _

Oh wait.

_ That’s Gregor _ , he realized. His body was so distorted Sandor as sure he was dead for good and he instantly pushed himself up from the corpse, feeling the rage burning again. 

 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” he bellowed, kicking the corpse repeatedly. “You worthless fucker ruined my whole bloody life and now you save it? To hells with you! You deserved a far worse death, this was too noble!”

 

Deciding kicking a dead body and yelling wasn’t the most effective thing to do, he walked away. The scene was nothing he had ever witnessed, but at the same time, this feeling of leaving was hautingly familiar, reminiscing of Blackwater Bay. Except he left on a horse, and the city’s streets were swarming with soldiers running around like headless roosters. and he wasn’t frantically looking around, hoping to not see the corpse of the little She-Wolf.

 

_ This is weird _ , he thought after a moment of walking and crawling and climbing.  _ I should feel pain. My bad leg doesn’t hurt the slightest. he stabbed me, he broke several ribs, he punched my face; yet it doesn’t hurt the slightest. What the fuck is going on? _

 

He stopped right in his tracks.  _ Well fuck me, I’m dead _ , he realized and he laughed bitterly.

 

Everything made more sense. Why he was still conscious after a fall he couldn’t have survived any way (even with his brother under him). Why he wasn’t feeling any pain in the places he knew he’d been wounded, although he remembered feeling pain before the fall.  _ Next thing I know, I’ll take a good look at my face, the scars will disappear and I’ll be a handsome Prince from a gallant song _ .

 

Sandor had little faith in the Gods, and even less in an afterlife; yet he couldn’t help but wonder whether the Seven Hells looked like this (if there was an afterlife, he would never end up in the Seven Heavens with all his deeds). Did every fucker who arrived at the Seven Hells saw this version of King’s Landing, ashy and smelling of burnt flesh and decay? Or was this only his version, because he loathed those things and this was supposed to be his punishment?

 

To find out, he decided to resume his walk. More smoke, more corpses, more ashes. No trace of the She-Wolf.

 

Surprisingly, he found the first traces of life on the ruins of the Sept of Baelor. He’d heard Cersei had blown out the Sept (luckily for him he left before wildfire could be used again), but he didn’t expected the building to be destroyed to the ground. 

 

And now, there was a actual bloodbath on the remains of the holy place. Humans bodies were contorting and screaming in pain, as animals feasted on them. He recognized some of their faces and felt no pity for them nor need to help them. Lions, a big one with a missing paw and a smaller one, were tearing apart Cersei, presumably the new ironborn King and even old Tywin. An ivy-like bush of roses, particularly thorny, was smothering that little shit of Joffrey, who was whining and helplessly squirming like the worm he had been his whole life. A pack of rabid dogs feasted on someone that could only be that bastard Bolton, as two giant wolves -- direwolves, he corrected himself -- were eating, one on Littlefucker, the other...on the Dragon Girl.

 

It was a morbidly intriguing spectacle, and somewhat satisfying to see that the fuckers who inflicted so much suffering to satisfy their egos were finally being punished (Sandor didn’t believe in divine justice, but had he been offered the possibility to punish them himself without losing his life, he would have done so willingly). However, he didn’t think it was a great to stay here, if those animals wanted to punish him too for the not so pretty things he’d done.

 

He resumed his walk, as swiftly as he could to not get noticed. But it was too late. One of the direwolves wolf lifted its head. It was probably still hungry, as there wasn’t much meat on Littlefucker’s bones after all. Sandor must seem like a juicy, giant roast in comparison, which would explain why the direwolf wolf was staring at him straight in its eyes and was walking towards him, licking the blood from his mouth.

 

He checked his belt, but found no weapon. The wolf got closer, its ears down, baring its teeth and growling. Maybe he was indeed to be punished that way, with no way of escaping like a coward; if he was to run away, the wolf would chase him and win. The wolf leapt, and was at his feet in the blink of an eye. This close, he could realise it was quite small in comparison to the other direwolf, and its eyes were greyish. Its fur was marred with blood and scars, but the more impressive ones were on its belly.

 

_ Fuck. That’s the She-Wolf! _ he thought. 

 

She gave him an aggressive bark but didn’t show more hostility. He reached down and scratched her head. On the road, he had ruffled once her hair, and she almost stabbed his hand with that needle of hers. She growled once more at him, and he drew back his hand. yes, that was definitely the wolf bitch.

 

“Hope you made it outside the fucking city,” he told her, but she didn’t answer, trotting in front of him instead.

 

_ Of course, she won’t answer, you moron. Death can’t be that weird _ , he scolded himself, but followed her nonetheless through the ruins. Eerily enough, she seemed to know exactly how to go outside the city, ducking under fallen wooden frames, jumping and climbing through rubbles, without hesitating one second. They were out of the city surprisingly fast, having passed the remains of the Old Gate in less time he thought possible given the state of the streets, which convinced him she made it out of the city alive.

 

Arya didn’t stop there and was still walking softly, looking behind so she could make sure he was still following her. Which he had absolutely no problem with. The further he could get from this fucking city, the better he’d fare.

 

“Where are you taking me, hmm? To a port so you can travel the world like you wanted?”

 

During their trip to King’s Landing, once by the fire, they had talked about what they’d do when the whole Cersei thing would be over. Sandor had no high hope of surviving against Gregor, so he said nothing, only “We’ll see.”. Arya had said she’d go and travel the rest of the world, seeing what was west of Westeros, since nobody knew what was there or nobody came back to tell the tale.

 

*****

_ “What if our world is as round as an apple? This way we may reach Asshai from Lannisport, Oldtown or the Iron Islands, without doing the long and perilous travel through Essos and risking to be captured by slavers!.” _

 

_ He had grunted, not knowing what to respond to that. She seemed really excited by this dream. _

 

_ “What do you do with your smith? Bring him with you?” _

_ “Gendry? He’s not my smith.” _

_ “Bullshit. He has been watching you like the wildling watches the giant bitch since you both got back in Winterfell. Then the night the Dragon Girl legitimized him, he disappeared with you and when he got back in the Hall, he looked miserable as fuck. I had to cheer him, as if cheering the heartbroken wildling wasn’t enough.” _

 

_ Arya stayed silent. _

 

_ “What happened between you two?” _

_ “He proposed to me and I refused.” _

_ “He’s that bad in bed, huh?” _

_ She threw a rock at him, and he barely dodged it. “That’s none of your business,” she hissed, and he could see a hint of red on her cheeks, which was rather unusual for her. “But, that’s not why.” _

_ “Y’know” he began after a moment of long silent. “I’m not telling you what to do or not, cause I’m not your bloody parent or septa or chaperon or whoever, and cause you probably know better for yourself, and I don’t give a fuck what you’re doing with your life. But I don’t think he would ask you to be the perfect lady. That’s not why he, somehow, likes you.” _

_ “I know he wouldn’t ask me. But everyone else would. He’s been a bastard his whole life, happy to work in his forge, and he’s good at it, but he has no idea on how to run a castle. Neither do I, but everyone will expect me to, because I was born a Stark and raised to do that.” Another silence, then she smirked. “If you want so much to marry us, then be our castelan, while he’s doing his smithwork and I’m living my life.” _

_ “Already told ya girl, I don’t give a rat’s ass if you marry anyone. You could marry the blond bitch and I wouldn’t give a fuck. Besides, I don’t know much more about running a castle than you. You should ask your sister to be your castellan.” _

_ “No, you should ask my sister.” Seeing his incredulous expression, she added: “Yeah you gonna be lord of some castle when you kill your brother, no?” _

_ “It’s a Keep, it is easier to manage than the Siege of the Warden of a whole Kingdom. Should be a piece of cake to do that on my own. But I’m not sure i wanna get back there.” _

_ “I see, Ser Clegane prefers to be running a bigger castle!” _

_ “I never said that.” Then narrowing his eyes: “What are you implying?” _

_ “Oh, so you think there’s something to imply.” _

 

_ He fell into her trap. He tended to forgot that, although Arya wasn’t familiar with the game of thrones, she still knew how to read people and lead them to tell what she wanted to hear. _

 

_ “Fuck off, girl.” _

_ “You put your nose in my business, whereas whatever has been or is going on between you and my sister needs to be sorted out.” _

_ “There is not and has never been anything between your sister and I.” Which was only half a lie on his part. _

_ “Then why the weird looks you’re exchanging? And the “Little Bird” thing?” _

_ “Why are you asking all those bloody questions? Are you Winterfell’s new Master of Whispers?” Arya answered nothing, but her smirk grew wider. “For fuck’s sake, girl, wipe that goddamn smirk off your face!” _

 

****

A bark tore him from his thoughts. They were both in a clearing, covered in a layer of snow and it was pitch dark outside. Arya was waiting a few feet in front of him. Once his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, Sandor could guess there was a forest in front of him. Smoke could be seen from the trees, so it meant there were people in here. The she-wolf leapt in the dark forest and disappeared. Sandor followed her by trusting his ears, which wasn’t easy because she padded soundlessly and the snow absorbed the few sounds she made. What was it she blabbed when they were traveling together?  _ Light as a feather, swift like a deer _ . 

 

They walked for some time in the forest, silent save for the sounds they made, and they reached a clearing. The fire burning there lead them for the last mile. Arya stopped a few steps away from the clearing, waiting for him to catch up on her. she then sniffed his hand for the last time and leapt back in the depths of the forest.

 

One sigh and a few steps later, Sandor found himself in front of Thoros and Beric, sitting around a bonfire and a roasting bird. He didn’t feel the sense of comfort and happiness he’d felt when he was joined by Arya, but he wasn’t entirely displeased with the encounter. Beric and Thoros were quite decent guys, but the thing that held Sandor back was their habitude to bring their Lord of Light and prophecies everywhere. 

 

“Greetings Clegane!” Dondarrion greeted him with a shit eating grin, excessively cheerful and waving a wineskin.

“Fuck off” he responded, with no animosity though. “How it feels being dead for good?”

Dondarrion shrugged. “Eh… Kinda like living but sleeping at the same time.”

“And you, why in the Seven Hells do you still have this birdshit or whatever the fuck you call it on top of your head?” he barked, gesturing to the bun on top of Thoros’ head. “Didn’t your Lord of Light told ya it makes you look like a cunt?”

“Well, technically the Lord of Light doesn’t speak to me. He send me signs and vision, and I have to read them correctly. Communicate would be more adequate.”

“Cut the crap now, I didn’t ask you to teach me about your Lord of Light and I have no interest in learning about him.” 

“Maybe it’s time you might want to revise that opinion”, suggested Beric.

“Why? Cause I’m dead and I have nothing to do for eternity? If you think I’m going to sit down with you and chit chat tea party and light fires in honor of your Lord, being brought back several times obviously damaged your brain beyond repair.”

 

Beric and Thoros both looked at each other with a glint of amusement in their eyes. During his time on the road with them, Sandor had noticed there was a complicity between those two that couldn’t be explained by them being very close friends...before learning a few weeks later they had been lovers for the last couple of years.

 

“He still doesn’t know? How could he? The signs are everywhere!” asked Beric.

“He seems blind to the signs…” retorted Thoros, taking the wineskin.

“If you have something to say to me, say it directly instead of whispering!” Sandor shouted, annoyed by their whispering, but they kept on.

“Do we tell him?”

“No, if it comes from us, he won’t listen.”

“Fuck that, I’m out of here.” He was already making a move to return into the darkness of the forest.

“Fine”, said Beric “you’re not dead yet.”

“No, I’m as dead as I can be. Everything that is going on here is far too crazy to be the real Westeros.”

“We never said it was the real Westeros.”

“I told you, death is akin to sleeping, except you don’t wake up”, added Beric with a bright smile. “Unless you’re not really dead of course. So  _ you _ can be dreaming too. You’re lucky to see some crazy things, I always made boring dreams, except the time I got revived the same day I ate dry Norvosi flowers.”

“No, it’s not funny, and it looked as if I was somehow getting punished, as well as all the fuckers I know.”

“Don’t you ever had those dreams where something you want to happen happens?”

“No” he groaned, annoyed with the pair of them trying to overinterpret everything that was going on and give it a mystical dimension when he was just dead.

“Well maybe this is a similar thing here. You want to see those people punished, and you think you must be punished to atone for some of the shit you’ve done, hence...this” Beric explained.

“Fuck off, I didn’t want to meet you two here!”

“Told you he wouldn’t listen to us”, sighed Thoros, drinking a sip from the wineskin.

“No, for this kind of Lord-of-the-Lighty crap, I’m obviously not gonna listen to you, as you know my opinions on the matter.”

“Fine! But there’s someone you may want to talk to, before you get back there.”

“Until then...To our next meet, in a very, very long time from now I hope” Thoros was grinning and held up the wineskin, as if toasting. 

 

The flames of the bonfire leaped, reached higher and higher and enveloped him, without actually burning him.

 

“Greet the smith boy and the Stark girl for me!” added Beric’s voice, smothered by the wall of flames.

 

_ How do you cunts manage to pull those fuckeries after you’re dead _ ? he shouted, but had no answer.

 

Around him, the flames had subsided, and he was alone, in a darkness. Sandor was back in the forest, shortly before dawn, as the sky was getting gray. There seemed to be a higher tree in the distance. The place was probably a godswood and the big tree a heart-tree.

 

Sandor heard footsteps and turned around. He wasn’t alone anymore, there was a girl in front of him, tall, straight nose, long thin black hair, big gray eyes and smiling at him, despite his scars. His stomach made a knot as he recognized her.

 

“Alenor?” he asked in a shaky voice, and it seemed as if his throat was into a knot too.

 

He hadn’t expected to say her name aloud since the day they’d buried her, near the family’s Keep and Gregor made clear he wanted no mention of her name.

 

“I was afraid you wouldn’t remember me, little brother,” she replied with a wider smile. “I am happy to see you. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t pray for an early death, but with everything that was going on with the living people and the multiple wars, I was pretty sure you’d end up here sooner.”

“Guess I was too good at killing,” he tried to reply in a detached voice, but it became as broken.  _ Great thing to say to your sister after so long and she’d being murdered by your mad brother! _

“It must not be your only talent, because you’re not quite dead.”

“The fuck? Are you in with the two Red God believers?”

She cocked her head to the side. “The two Red God believers? Who exactly?”

“Oh.”

 

Alenor didn’t know Thoros and Beric. How could she even know them? He felt stupid for even asking.

 

“Not important.”

“I don’t think you have much time left here. In a moment, you won’t be able to talk with the dead anymore, because you are being pulled back.”

“What if I don’t want to be pulled back? What if I want to die for good?”

She smiled “I’m afraid you don’t have much choice in that.”

“Then who’s making the fucking choice for me?”

“The Stranger. Or other Gods, maybe that Red God you just mentioned? Maybe they still need you to do something…”

 

Sandor was used to be a pawn and to obey orders in a game he understood the rules, but didn’t have the position to play. However, he never felt the Gods had a purpose for him or were using him. The possibility that he might actually come back to serve them, to serve the Red God maybe was sickening and somehow worse than being used by humans. He despised all kinds of God since forever; why would they choose him to carry out their scheme? Was this his punishment for not believing in them?

 

“But to do what?” He hated how unsure and desperate his voice sounded right now because he didn’t know.

“You’re a good man Sandor, maybe they need a kind man to rebuild Westeros after the wars.”

“Oh, fuck that! I’m neither a goddamn septon nor a hero or a mason! I killed tons and tons of people, remember? And not just in the wars!”

“Is this something you regret you did and want to atone for it?”

 

Instead, the image of Sansa Stark sprang up in his brain and he shook his head as if to chase the thought.

 

“There is no way the Gods would revive me to atone for something as personal and insignificant”, he groaned.

“Maybe they will. As people say, the ways of the Gods can’t be understood by humans.”

 

The flames reappeared and they dressed themselves between the two of them, once more, higher than just a few moments prior. Fucking flames, why did they appear that soon? 

 

“Farewell, little brother. I hope you will live a long and happy life.”

“Wait! Don’t go yet!” 

 

Sandor shouted, but it was useless,she couldn’t hear him through the wall of flames growing denser and denser. He was alone now, and the flames gathered in front of him, menacingly. Suddenly the flames pierced his torso. Sandor expected to feel more pain, more burns, but none of that. He felt as he was warming from the inside, as if his heart was glowing. With each beat, the warmness was spreading further down his limbs, until he felt wholly warm, as if a gentle fire was burning inside him.

 

Just after that, the flames disappeared, leaving him alone once more, in the pitch black darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I included a Sandor&Arya scene because we needed a longer scene of them on their way to King's Landing in S8 (which we could've had if D&D accepted to make a "regular" season of 10 episodes...)  
> If all the craziness and weird things going on this chapter didn't scare you off, there is a lot of chance that the next chapter will be weird too.


	3. A Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, that's me, I'm back three months later! Believe it or not, I had 80% of this chapter written at the end of June, but I ended up either procrastinating or writing bits of upcoming chapters...
> 
> Anyway, hope you'll enjoy :)

  

 

_I'm lost in a forest_

_All alone_

_The girl was never there_

_It's always the same_

_I'm running towards nothing_

_Again and again and again and again_

(The Cure – A Forest)

 

Sandor was back in a forest, when the sky was turning gray, right before dawn. This time, there was pure silence, no one, no animals were waiting for him. Looking up he spotted a tree whose leaves reached well above the other trees. In the dim light, its leaves seemed dried-blood red. He was probably in a Godswood, although he didn’t know why, for he wasn’t a follower of the Old Gods. He still decided to get to the heart tree instead of staying alone in the silence and in the snow.

 

The walk in the Godswood was uneventful and he arrived at the heart tree sooner than he expected, when the sun just began to shine. The tree was the highest heart tree Sandor had ever seen, taller than the lush one in Winterfell, and it was as high as the Statues of the Seven in the Great Sept of Baelor. As in every heart tree, the trunk was carved, supposedly by the Children of the Forest thousands of years ago, but the face was an exact replica of the Statue of the Mother in Baelor’s Sept. The face was weeping, the scarlet tears running down the trunk and filling the nearby pond. Although the features of the face weren’t those of the statue, they were familiar. 

 

Suddenly, the branches began to redden and as the color progressed, transformed into auburn strands, coiling and waving around the carved head like a nest of fiery snakes. The carved eyes opened and Tully blue eyes were staring at him, shining and piercing through him. The face was Sansa’s ; but never had she looked so frighteningly beautiful.

 

Sandor’s first reaction was to feel as if he had been punched in the stomach. Then he felt rage inside him. The two Red God believers had told him he wasn’t dead, his sister told he wasn’t dead, and yet he faced one of the greatest mistakes of his life, one of the few he had regretted every day, especially after he learnt what happened to Sansa. He was _definitely_ dead for good, and in one of the Seventh Hells, condemned to revive it eternally.

  
The fact that Sansa was silently staring at him with a neutral expression, making him more vulnerable by the minute, made the entire experience more unsettling. Around them, there was silence, and the occasional noise of wind touching leaves.

 

There was a knot in his throat as he asked: « Are you here to inflict eternal torment now I’m dead? »

 

His voice didn’t sound as harsh as he wanted to, but rather shaky and unsure, as he was repeating to himself _Don’t fuck this up again don’t fuck this up again don’t fuck this up again_ , still cringing at the memory of the feast celebrating the victory against the Undead fuckers. He was annoyed then : Tormund had just spent a lot of time whining on his shoulder and Sandor listened, grunting here and there (although he was sure it wasn’t a good choice for the Tall Bitch to get attached to Jaime, but he kept that to himself, as it was none of his business). Fortunately, some girls came looking for fun, and the wildling seemed to forget the Tall Bitch instantly. Sandor thought he might actually get some peace and finish his drink peacefully, but the Little Bird came in front of him. 

 

Sandor hadn’t seen Sansa this close since the Battle of the Blackwater. He felt suddenly more ill-at-ease than at the beginning of the feast, being dragged by the wildling there, even though he was fine on his own, munching on some venison with a tankard of ale outside. For one, he didn’t know what she wanted from him, and second, the regrets from not taking her with him at Blackwater Bay were resurfacing and he braced himself from a reproachful speech.

  
Surprisingly, none of this came up. She asked him why he didn’t join the girl, saying she could’ve made him happy ; he retorted that only one thing would make him happy. When she asked what it was, Sandor cursed his talkative tipsy self and retorted it was his business. Her eyes narrowed slightly at that, as if she figured out what he hinted to with his defensiveness, but she said nothing.

  
Any chance Sandor could’ve had to see himself satisfied vanished when he thought he’d be witty with the “ _you’ve been broken in_ ”, like she was a building or a property, and not a human. The words came too quickly from his mouth, and he regretted them the moment they came out of his lips, making him want to gut himself. He didn’t miss the look of hurt flashing in her eyes and he wished he’d drop dead at this moment. Sandor had sworn himself to never hurt her, and yet he just did. He felt even worse, as if he would throw up, when she said that without that bastard fucker she wouldn’t be that strong. Which couldn’t be further from the truth: she was already strong in the capital, surviving amongst the lions and snakes. This conversation and the shame he felt made him leave Winterfell sooner than he initially intended to. He didn’t dare to face her one more time.

  
Even now, he couldn’t bring himself to look in her eyes. Funny, how it used to be her that couldn’t look him in the eyes, how it used to be her that looked up at him. Sandor was in the smaller and it felt humbling for a moment, before it seemed threatening.

 

« No, I am not », her voice was soft and even, calming him down. « Actually, you are not dead. »

 

And another person telling him he wasn’t dead. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, before a thought crossed his mind.

 

« Are you the Red God? » It was a stretch, granted, but it would at least make some sense if she was.

« Me? » She cocked an eyebrow.

 

 _Oh Seven Hells, now you’ve done it, and you’ve fucked it up yet again, you old dog_ , he thought. However, Sansa began laughing, which he didn’t expect. He never heard her genuinely laugh, only polite laughs back in the Red’s Keep, and it made him feel slightly better.

 

« Are you the Mother, then? Or the Maiden? Or one of your old gods? Or any kind of god or goddess? »

« None of them. I am only Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell. »

« Then why am I seeing you, now?! »

  
Something in the nearby trees moved and a flock of birds flew into the sky. It was a flock of ravens. Sansa looked at it until they disappeared into the purple clouds, before she cast her gaze down at him once more:

 

« Honestly, I don’t know. I was about to ask you the same question. Don’t you have an idea ? »

« Let’s be clear, I have nothing to do with this. I’ve been told this is part of a greater plot where somehow, somebody revived me, but I have no fucking clue of what they expect from me and the reasons behind. I have no fucking clue of what to do either. »

 

Sansa stayed silent for a moment, looking far away. Sandor noticed that her eyes had stopped bleeding during their conversation, and all traces of blood had vanished from the opalescent bark.

 

« Maybe there is somewhere you want to go back to? »

« If you’re talking about my Keep, first thing I’ll do if I get there will be burning the fucking thing to the ground », he grumbled, feeling a rush of anger at the very mention of the place he spent his childhood.

« But...you’re a Lord now. » Sandor groaned, remembering that since his father and Gregor were both dead, he was lord Clegane now. _Fuck me,_ he thought with a groan and a roll of his eyes. « Don’t you want to begin your future there? Raise a family? Unless you feel obligated to Gendry Baratheon, the trueborn of the late King Robert and you wish to serve as his swonshield ? You’d no longer be tie by vows of celibacy and could start your own family. »

« Fuck the smith ! » he spat, although he had nothing against the smith. Being from the smallfolk, he’d probably make a ruler caring of his folks, but he wasn’t smart enough yet. And Sandor would never play the role of counsel to him. « As for the family, I renounced to it long ago, with my ugly ass mug. »

 

That didn’t silence her, for she asked immediately : « Is this all part of denying your origins ?»

« I’m not denying my origins! » he barked. The conversation was going too well until then, and now it was taking a bad turn. Talking about feelings and past never did much good for him. « I’m doing like you: burying that fucking past and making sure this fucking keep won’t become the place where other mad fuckers will come to to perpetrate the worst crimes and horrors! »

« If you have nowhere to stay, mayhaps there is still someone you could come back to ? »

 

Sandor froze. He couldn’t tell if she was asking this question with a person in mind (as if he would come back to the She-Wolf, the Tall Bitch, or, Gods forbid, the mad red haired wildling), or was genuinely trying to figure out what the fuck he was to do.

 

« No. There’s no one. I am just a stray dog now, with no family and no master », he rasped, his voice charged with bitterness. « Might just live on the road and offer my blade for some coin. »

« Then come to me. »

 

His heart skipped a beat and he looked up at her, the surprise evident on his face. He was aware his eyes were as wide as saucers and his mouth was gaping open and that wasn’t making him look any better or clever-looking ; however he couldn’t say a damn thing. Surely, he must’ve heard wrong. Surely, this was a fucking dream or fantasy or some fuckery the Gods indulged him before he definitely passed away. Because there was no way soemone on this fucking continent would want him, would care enough to grieve for him and wish for him to come back.

 

Although his mind was whirlig, he couldn’t think of an appropriate response. Any word he tried to say got desperately stuck in his throat.

 

Sansa’s soft voice put him out of this misery. « You don’t have to answer now, or even answer at all. I’ll be waiting for you. You know where to find me after all. »

 

He nodded, still unable to talk.

 

« Sandor? » She asked after a moment, smile in her voice. 

 

He felt so many things as she said his name - tingling coursing through his body, fire warming his heart and his cheeks, devils dancing in his stomach - that a part of him mocked him for being so extra just because she had said his fucking name. But he didn’t listen to that voice and chose to burn this moment in his head instead, like letters on a stone.

 

« Yes? » he finally answered as he realized she expected an answer, hoping she hadn’t noticed his recent thoughts.

« Why do you want to burn your Keep to the ground? Aren’t you still afraid of fire? »

  
Sandor’s mouth opened to retort something, but he closed it. She was asking a really good question: why did he mention the flames? Clegane’s Keep was just an average keep, not a sturdy, fancy one, it could be easily destroyed, no matter the means used. Yet Sandor meant it completely when he said he wanted to burn the keep, without feeling a deep distaste or fear for fire.

 

Fuck. She was actually right, he realized with shock. He didn’t feel afraid of the fire anymore.

 

For any person, not being afraid anymore of something would be a good thing, a proof of courage, and bring them euphoria and pride. Yet Sandor shivered as he wondered if this wasn’t a bad thing instead, foreshadowing darker turns of events.

 

In front of him, Sansa had stopped smiling, and her traits melted into blood again, running down the trunk to the pool. The tree paled, the leaves fell to the ground. A gush of strong wind made them flew in a circle, engulfing Sandor, until he couldn’t see the sky anymore. The orange rays made the leaves look like little flames, in which Sandor could see silhouettes, human silhouettes sitting, talking, moving ; a bigger silhouette flying across several leaves. He saw shapes of new cities with huge buildings, dusty ruins, wastelands and vastness of water and trees.

 

But soon he stopped seeing anything at all. He heard voices, talking, singing, chanting, some in common tongue, some in tongues he’d never heard before ; even roars and raven’s croaks. He smelled fire, herbs, salt, spices, forests, smoke, sea. He felt warmness run through him, a warmness which couldn’t be caused by the sun passing through the leaves. The sensations overwhelmly increased, until Sandor felt the presence of another being, like an aura, as it was watching him.

 

Before he had any chance to determine what it was, all his sensations vanished and he was pulled downward into an endless fall. The Being loomed over him at first, then embraced him, and the pull felt stronger, almost preventing Sandor from breathing. He tried to shake it off, to fight it, but it was useless, since it was melting with his body.

 

One big flicker, and everything turned to nothingness again.

 


	4. Redemption

_"Dusk will lure me in, and make me pay for a new dawn"_

(Redemption - Cellar Darling)

 

 

Sandor eventually gained consciousness for good, after all those weird dreams. He was lying down on a polished rock that felt like marble, naked saved a cloth covering his groin. The place reeked of fire, herbs and salt. To top that, he couldn’t see shit when he opened his eyes. This was definitely worse than the worst hangovers he’d ever had, because then, he still had a minimal idea of where he passed out and the events before that.

 

“Welcome back to us, Ser Sandor Clegane” said a woman in the Common Tongue, but she spoke with an Essosi accent.

“I’m no ser, woman,” he groaned. His voice came more like a croak instead of the usual deep rasp, his mouth was dryer than Dorne and his throat a little scratchy as he spoke. He had probably been out for days, even weeks.

“Of course. How silly of me! Now your brother is dead, you are _Lord_ Sandor Clegane”, she corrected, and he could hear her smiling.

“Drop it alltogether, woman, I am neither a Ser nor a Lord. Where the fuck am I?”

“In the Great Temple of the Lord of Light in Volantis. I am Kinvarra, the High Priestess.”

Sandor almost leaped like a fish out of water. “How in the Seven Hells did I even got here? Is this why I smell smoke and salt?... _Are you fire believers cunts trying to turn me into a fucking ham for your next meal?_ ”

“Not at all”, she replied with a small laugh, the patient laugh of a parent towards a silly child, and fuck, did he hate this condescending, infantilizing laugh and tone! “Rest assured, Lord Sandor Clegane, we followers of the Lord of Light don’t eat humans.”

“Then why this place smells like a fucking smokehouse?”

“We are keeping His fire alive, so He can allow us to preach in His name. Salt was used to clean your wounds, herbs to speed the scarring and the healing, and fire served as a vessel for R’hllor to bring you back on this earth. He obviously has a purpose and big plans for you, yet He did not share them.”

 

_This_ _is too fucking ridiculous_ , he thought, and let escape a laugh. Maybe he indeed was alive, but still had fever and was hallucinating ? What if the weird ‘dreams’ and everything were only hallucinations ? Which would make a lot of sense.

 

“This is no laughing matter, Lord Sandor Clegane.”, Kinvarra chastised. She was still smiling, he could hear it, but he could also hear the hint of threat in her voice, and how the tone got colder.

“Oh yeah? My brother ruined my face when I was seven by pushing it into the fire, I can’t stand fire and, unlike you, Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr, I have absolutely no faith in any god, let alone your Lord of Light. So why the fuck your precious Lord deigned to bring a heathen like me back? To torment me further, cause that’s what killers get? Or solely for the irony of it all ?”

“Lies” commented the Priestess.

“I’m not lying!” he snarled back, sitting upand failing miserably. He must’ve been out for weeks to be that weak.

“On the contrary, you are lying about everything. First you are not afraid of the fire anymore.”

 

His heart skipped a beat as the conversation with Sansa immediately came to mind. The Priestess couldn’t possibly know about the content of his vision-dream-hallucination ; she probably only assumed things that served her religious beliefs. Sandor wished the room was lightened, so he could see whether the priestess was bluffing or really sure of what she was saying.

 

“And you do believe in the existence of the Lord of Light, to a certain extent », she added, triumphant. « You saw him bring back Ser Beric Dondarrion through the Priest Thoros of Myr. You saw Ser Beric Dondarrion flame his sword in honor of Our Lord, without needing neither fire, nor flintstones, nor wood. You saw the Shadowbinder Priestess Melisandre of Asshai set the Dothraki arakhs ablaze and light barriers in front of Winterfell during the Great Battle, in spite of the snow storm. But most important of all, you heard the Lord of Light as your brother shoved your face in the furnace.”

 

He wasn’t that surprised that she mentioned what the other Fire believers did, because it wouldn’t surprise Sandor if fire believers could communicate with ther minds only or if their memories transfered to other believers when they died or any weird shit like that, but _how the hell did she know about th_ _e burning_ _, which only a few people knew about_? And how in the seven fucking hells did she know bout the vocies, which he told nobody ?

 

As always as someone mentioned fire and his brother, a surge of rage coursed through him. Hadn’t the Pristess been a woman, he would’ve beat the shit out of her for even suggesting that that « accident » and all the suffering happened to serve a bullshit greater purpose. He tried sitting up again, succeeding this time, and barked :

 

“I didn’t hear shit when my face was shoved into the fire ! Only the sound of my flesh sizzling and my own screams !”

“Lies ! You heard Him, but you did not listen because you thought you were going insane with the fire ! » She wasn’t shouting but she had raised her voice, confident.

 

Sandor felt a heavy weight on his chest. Goosepbumps were prickling his skin, despite the warmth of the room. How could she know things he only said to few people ? And how could she know something he never said to anyone ? Maybe he had talked in his sleep ; but he had been delirious before, and talkative-drunk for sure, and even then, he said no word about the voice hearing to the maesters, to Arya or Father Ray. Not even Sansa knew.

 

He closed his eyes, raked his hands through his hair and drew a deep breath, shakier than he would’ve liked. Many people said children memories were untrustworthy, but Sandor remembered that day perfectly. How Gregor, already tall and strong for his age, grabbed him by the neck and threw him in front of the chimney. Back then, Sandor didn’t think his brother would actually put his face into the fire ; he thought he was just being punished, although excessively he admitted to himself, for taking the toy without asking. Then Gregor had grabbed his hair, making him arch his neck and pushed him further towards the fire, the flames almost reaching Sandor’s underjaw. Sandor had been panicked then, tears were streaming down his cheeks as he kept repeating he was sorry and he would never do it again because he had learnt the lesson. He had tried to wriggle free, but his brother’s boot on his back prevented him to do so. Sandor begged for forgiveness, but his brother said in a harsh voice that he didn’t believe him and needed to make sure he wouldn’t take something else from him again and before Sandor realized what was implied, his face was pressed into the fire.

 

What followed was worse than any other nightmare he’d ever had. The warmth was unbearable, there was an atrocious smell of something burning and a terrible, bloodcurling scream that went on and on. Suddenly Sandor realized that he was the one screaming and the smell was his face and hair burning. He kept screaming nonetheless, his mind swarming with pain and «  _imgoingtodienow imgoingtodienow_  ». He begged in his head help from the Mother, the Father and the Warrior, help from the dead heart tree he’d seen that time his father brought him to Casterly Rock, but nothing came.

 

Through the screams and the sounds of flesh, tears and sweat sizzling, a barely audible yet warm voice still managed to be heard. It spoke to him in a langage he’d never heard before, then he heard another scream, deeper one, followed by a string of curses. His brother’s fingers had caught fire too and that made Sandor feel slightly better for a brief moment seeing him being wounded too, even though there was no way he could’ve burned himself holding Sandor like he was. Sandor chose this moment to take himself out of the fire. There was no sizzling anymore, but the pain was still excruciating, he couldn’t see anything, he was still screaming his lungs off and the smell was horrible now more than ever. _If I live, I swear I will never cry again and I’ll train day and night and I won’t die until I make him pay for what’s he done_  ! He thought, tears of pain and anger rolling down his cheeks, the salt making his burns even more unsufferable. Sandor was also angry like he’d never been before, angry against himself, for doing something so stupid when he knew Gregor had a mean temperament ; angry against his brother for being so unjustly cruel ; and angry against the Gods, for not doing shit when he was pushed into the fire ; so angry against them he decided, right at this moment, that they weren’t worth believing in anymore.

 

_You’re going to regret that you little shit !_ Gregor had barked before throwing himself at Sandor and grabbing him by the collar. He slapped him with so much force that Sandor felt skin and blood attach to his brother’s palm. He felt light-headed for a moment, his vision darkened, before he resumed screaming in pain. Gregor tightented his grip on him, and Grandpa Tybor had barged in with two other adults to restrain Gregor, which took a lot of efforts Alenor said when Sandor woke up.

 

During the time he was being cured, and Alenor kept watch near his bed, he asked her if she had heard another voice when she had come into the room. She looked at him with her gray eyes and shook her head, saying he might’ve confused the voice with the sounds of his face being destroyed. Grandpa Tybor would’ve mentioned it if he heard about it, so the only other way to be sure was to ask Gregor, and fuck that, Sandor wouldn’t talk to him unless absolute necessity. His brother probably didn’t even hear the voice, and if he mentioned it, he would kill him for good, fearing someone might’ve been watching him when he shoved him into the fire (whereas the official version, courtesy of their father, was that Sandor’s bed caught fire) or that his brother was weak and crazy. So Sandor settled with his sister’s explanation. She was older, she knew more things; she sure must’ve been right.

 

Then Sandor became a soldier, and he saw people being burned, he heard their screams, and although he kept away from them because of his fear, he never heard the foreign voice again. He ended convincing himself he had imagined the voice to make the sizzling more sufferable – hells, he had lots of imagination when he was little, he could spend days playing with rock and twigs and inventing stories about knights and monsters and ladies and tourneys.

 

He met Thoros and Dondarrion, learnt about their Red God. He thought they were making shit up, because they were two crazy drunk fuckers, but when Thoros bent over Beric and began chanting to bring him back, Sandor’s blood froze, because it seemed to be the same langage as the voice. But that made no sense, he didn’t believe in the Red God when he was little, and still didn’t believe in him now; why in the Seven Hells would he manifest himself to him ?

 

“If, and I say if, your God really exists like you say, why would why he help me  and bring me back, when I neither believe nor pray to him? »

“Our Lord is a merciful one. Seeing a child thrown to the fire, without proper ceremony, might have decided Him to lit in you the flame of justice so you could bring justice on Westeros. Or maybe it was your fate to protect the one who killed the Great Other. »

 

Sandor wasn’t sold by her explanations. He rolled his eyes and groaned. Didn’t the Red Woman of Stannis burnt his daughter at a stake ? Why should he trust this Priestess ? Oh, what a fool he was fro thinking he could get non-bullshit answers from her !

 

“And since you have accomplished dutifully this crucial part and finally got your revenge, He decided to reward you by offering you a third chance. Maybe there are still people you need to atone to. »

« Don’t make me believe your God brings people back only so they can atone to other people. He must’ve other plans for me, doesn’t he ? » he groaned.

Kinvarra didn’t answer.

« So he has some», deducted Sandor. His stomach knotted at the realization, and he suddenly felt tiredness. He passed hands over his face.

« Like I already said, » she answered dryly and with a thinner smile « the Lord of Light does not share all His plans with us. We merely interpret the signs He gives us. »

« But you’re better at misreading them that not, like the red woman believed in Stannis Baratheon ? How can you be sure it’s me who have a chance to atone ? »

« I never said... » began the Priestess, but Sandor didn’t let her justify herself.

« Wouldn’t it be more logical if it was someone more champion-material, knightly, honorable and all that shit ? Like Jon Snow or the Dragon Girl ? »

“Indeed, the late Daenerys used to be my champion, » said Kinvarra after some silence. « I travelled to Meereen and had high hopes of her saving us from the Long Night, which she did. Her reign was brief alas, ended by her nephew Jon. The Lord of Light has other plans for him, to atone for this act. And He had other plans for her.”

 

This surprised Sandor. Not the fact that Jon had some Targaryen-blood, She-Wolf told him on the Road to King’s Landing. But that he did kill the Dragon Girl, who he seemed so inamourated in with (the only person Sandor had seen so blindly in love was the red-haired wildling). Glad to hear the boy had some sense into his head and wasn’t all about love and honor like his father, uncle or whoever Ned Stark was to him.

 

But this whole situation also meant that Cersei and her allies were out of the equation and Jon wasn’t the new monarch of Westeros. What if there was no Iron Throne anymore and all the Kingdoms were independent again ? Or, if it wasn’t the case, who could be sitting on the Iron Throne ? Would they continue the Lannister line, making the Imp a king ? Would they choose the oldest heir to Jon, Sansa ? Or would they reinstall the Baratheon line, and the poor smith boy would be king ? No, there was no way Westeros would want an imp for a King, as smart as he was, especially when he had been the Mad Queen’s brother and the Hand of the Dragon Queen. If he trusted the words of Sansa in his vision, Gendry was the Lord of Storm’s End, now. Which only left Sansa as the logic choice. He remembered her words. _You know where to find me._ So, was she in King’s Landing ? The Godswood he saw in the dream was Winterfell’s though.

 

« You know where to find her, don’t worry, » said Kinvarra, as if she read his thoughts. She added in a mysterious tone. « She is kissed by fire, just like you. What fire joins, none may put asunder. »

 

Sandor shouldn’t be surprised that the Priestess knew so many things of his past anymore, but that still made him even more uncomfortable. So far, only the Wildling spoke of « kissed by fire » to deisgnate redheads ; but maybe people with other languages used this expression too.

It was the second time the priestess mentioned something from his vision, this couldn’t be coincidental anymore. It wasn’t a dream, since she knew about it, but a vision, most likely sent by the Red God. Sandor felt betrayed and sicker by that thought. Slowly, he began to realize what the last words of the priestess meant. Apparently the Lord of Light wasn’t content playing with his believers and him for that matter; now he involved Sansa. This, added to the feeling of growing uneasiness Sandor had since he woke up and the previous mention of his brother, made him madder. The girl escaped the rule of Lannisters, Littlefucker and the Dragon Girl, only to fall under the hands of lunatics and their God, in whom she didn’t even believe in. _Why can’t no one leave her be?_

 

« Who are you talking about ? » he snarled through gritted teeth, feigning ignorance, although his blood was boiling. With a little luck, all of this was pure coincidence, the Priestess made grammatical errors and spoke of the Wildling, proving further that all she was blabbering was pure bullshit.

She chuckled. « Don’t play dumb, Lord Sandor Clegane. » 

 

This was the last straw. Sandor turned his body towards the voice and blindly reached in front of him, grabbing the front of the Priestess’ robes. He pulled her closer to him, until he was sure she was up close enough to see each of his scars, to frighten her. She gasped audibly.

 

« Give me one » he bellowed « and I say one, fucking good reason for why I should believe any of this since you made a huge mistake about the signs being about the Dragon girl ? Only the Red Woman made dumber interpretations ! »

He felt her body stiffen, and she pushed him back on the marble with more strength than he’d suspected. « I will leave you now, I have other matters to attend, » her tone was still dry, but the smile was definitely gone from her voice, for the first tie sinc ethe begining of the conversation. She also seemed more pressed, as if some urgency had come up or she feared something. « Rest, you need to gain back your strength, you will need it. Some servants will bring you water and food. Don’t hesitate to ask if you need something.»

 

Before the gliding of her dress on the ground became too faint, he stood up. The cloth fell down to the floor, but he didn’t care.

 

“Care to bring some light in here? I’d like to be able to actually see some shit here.”

 

The rustling stopped and there was a big pause for a moment. She was studying him, he felt her eyes examining him and a bad feeling settled in him. He expected the worse, but nothing could prepared him for what the Priestess answered :

 

“There’s already light in here, Lord Sandor Clegane. It’s true, we managed to heal all of your body and old wounds, with only the thinnest of scars visible, but your eyes were too damaged. It’s usually very difficult to heal them and by the time the big black dragon brought there, there was nothing left we could do.” She explained, before disappearing in a rustle of her skirts and the clacking of her heels.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. Would you believe me if I told you that this chapter was like 97% complete since six months ago and I only remember it was existing (I was counting on this year of uni being pretty chill to have more time to write, but this year turned out to not be chill at all, and that was pre-Corona)? Problem being that now that I've discovere dthis chapter (and bits of next chapters I've written also 6 months ago), I'm not so sure about if I want the fanfic to still go in that direction. Guess I have to figure that, haha
> 
> Now a little word about why Kinvarra appeared in this chapter: I was a bit disappointed that in S8 we saw almost none of the Red Priests' order, after them being hyped for several seasons and supporting Dany as the Prince(ss) that was promised. I even expected a small resurrection/mystical scene at the very end, but that didn't happen. And that's how this whole fanfic idea started
> 
> Anyway, hope you liked this chapter and you and your loved ones are all doing okay right now


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